Something to Prove
by Himitsu-no-Paradise
Summary: Unfortunately, Greg Mendel did see. Set after 'In the Name of the Brother'. Future Captain Swan and Blackfrost
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or Once Upon a Time. Technically, Disney owns them both. But if we're going to get into specifics, Avengers belongs to Marvel and Once Upon a Time belongs to ABC and all of the wonderful writers, directors, producers and actors who work so very hard on it.**

**Non-beta'd.**

**Enjoy. **

Chapter One.

**Storybrooke Hospital, 6:30am**

"Honey...you're not gonna believe what I saw..."

That was when it all started. Rumplestiltskin and Leroy had been right. They should've let him die. They couldn't have known that one phone call would change everything. That it wasn't _just_ the outside world they had to worry about.

That the outside world was a lot _stranger_ than they'd first imagined upon retrieving their memories.

Magic. Science. The savior...heroics...

It was all about to come crashing down on them in a way they'd never understand...or expect...

And it was about to make things a _lot_ worse.

**Storybrooke Hospital, 10:30am**

Killian Jones awoke to a sharp pain in his midsection and he could only assume that they'd lowered the dose of whatever magical medicine they were feeding into his arm. He cursed under his breath and sat up, glancing around. He was still situated in a private room, all of the windows around him frosted over so no curious looky-loos could see into his room and decide to come for his heart.

He wished they would. Yes, he'd hurt the Crocodile. He'd wounded him right to his very core. But somehow, it still felt empty. Emma had been right. He'd done his damage—worse damage than the Crocodile could _ever_ imagine. But the beast still lived—infinitely, as it were—and had magic and Killian was just a mortal man—albeit a handsome, gentlemanly pirate man—with no powers, an unknown number of broken bones and no way of fending off the magic wielding fiend should he decide to pay him a visit.

Scoffing, Killian turned his head when he heard a few whispered voices outside. Then, the knob on his room door turned and in walked the elusive Swan.

"Ah, to what do I owe this honor, gosling?" he asked, picking at her cleverly obvious surname. His brow furrowed, then. She looked at if she was dressed for a trip—a long one at that. She had on thick black denim that hugged all her curves in all the right places, a shirt with a bit more substance than tank-top which he'd met her in, and the red jacket which she'd worn on their, what seemed like so long ago, journey to the top of the beanstalk. Her hair was also pulled back into a tight ponytail and if he shifted just a bit, he could see the flat-heeled riding boots she had on.

"Going somewhere, luv?" he asked, raising a thick, dark eyebrow at her, the scruff on his face a little scruffier then when last they'd spoken. Curious what a few hours without the chance for daily grooming can do to a well-kept pirate.

Emma was facing the wall to his right, looking thoughtful. When he spoke a second time, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes and then turned, placing her hands on her hips. She licked her lips, nervously, before meeting blue eyes.

"Look, here's the deal," she said. "I only came here because I need to make sure of something."

"Something, darling?" he asked and a wide grin spread across his face. "If you're here to see if I'm healing up properly, I can assure you, you needn't worry. All of the _important_ parts still work just fine."

Emma's expression was dry and unamused. "I _am_ going somewhere, Hook. Somewhere with Gold."

The pirate's face darkened, immediately, and he turned his eyes from her. "And why is that?"

"Not your concern. What _is_ your concern is this," she said and then placed her hands on the railings of the hospital bed and leaned in dangerously close to him. "You'll be healed up in a week or two. And then David is gonna lock your sorry ass up until I get back. _If_ you somehow manage to escape, I'm gonna say this once and once only: _do not go near Belle._"

He was curious again, and again a cocked eyebrow turned her way. The question of _why_ was clear on his face.

Emma pursed his lips and stood up straight again. She was silent for a long moment, staring at the wall again, and then she murmured, "You asked me once if I'd ever been in love."

He was silent, but both eyebrows were raised in curiosity now.

"I told you no. But I can tell you that there is someone I love now."

Something twisted inside the pirate's heart. Something unfamiliar.

"...my son," she finished and then looked at him. "And Gold has threatened to kill him and everyone else I care about if any harm comes to Belle while we're gone. And if that happens, and my son suffers because _you_ couldn't keep your hook to yourself..."

Killian clenched his jaw.

"...then I'll have no problem breaking more than your ribs, buddy. You can count on that."

With that, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving the broken, handcuffed Captain to contemplate her words.

***.*.*.*.*.* Headquarters, 11:00am**

She always trained alone. It was easier for her that way. She could turn on score from Swan Lake in the background and lose herself. Sometimes, in the middle of roundhouse kicks and elbow strikes, she'd find herself moving into the ballet she had so cherished in the past—in _that_ past. She'd let so much of it go back then, in order to cleanse herself of the life she had never wanted to live.

But she could not let go of Swan Lake.

In a way, despite its connections to her tainted memories, it gave her comfort. To know that, in all of the fighting, in all of the martial arts and espionage, there was still something graceful and feminine inside of her. That she could still stand en pointe and do pirouettes without struggle. And playing Swan Lake, in the otherwise stale silence of her isolated training sessions gave her the opportunity to do that.

Today felt different though. She fell into the ballet more than usual. As she performed backflips, kicked her legs high, pushed her fists with fatal force into the air around her, she felt herself moving into high jumps, elegant turns and slow, pointed movements more frequently.

She wondered, for a moment, why the music was affecting her in such a way today, but the contemplation was short-lived as a voice came over her earpiece.

She answered the page with her name and rank.

"_You're needed on the bridge_," came the voice on the other end.

"On my way," she murmured, moving toward her gear. She suited up, quickly, and headed out of gym, making her way toward the lift at the end of the hall that would take her to the bridge. A crack of thunder could be heard just outside as well as helicopters in the distance and she wondered what could possibly have gone wrong this time.

***.*.*.*.*.* Headquarters, 11:10am**

Three separate military grade helicopters made their landing on the carrier's extensive landing strip. A tall, well-toned man in a pair of Armani slacks stepped out of one, his meticulously trimmed goatee shifting as he grinned and tipped a man dressed in a military uniform as if he was an ordinary taxi driver. He straighted the Ralph Lauren blazer that he wore over a purple Dolce and Gabanna button down and gave another of the uniformed men some condescending orders about the "precious cargo" the helicopter was carrying before he stalked off toward the carrier's inner decks.

Out of the second helicopter came a bulkier man, his waist just as tapered as the first's but with broader arms and shoulders. His blond hair was combed over, neatly and he smiled, politely, at the military fellows who were assisting him before grabbing his own luggage, slinging his old, worn brown leather jacket over his shoulder and beginning his trip into the inner chambers as well.

Finally, out of the last helicopter came a final man, wearing worn out loafers, a pair of worn slacks and a unbuttoned, dark green collared-shirt over a black t-shirt. His hair was curly and mussed, and he glanced around, nervously. He still wasn't completely comfortable in situations like this but he'd learned to adapt somewhat. Thanking the men helping him with his things, he started to follow the first two, when a loud clap of thunder made him jump. He realized after a moment what the sound signified and a sigh of relief left his lips. This was going to be a long trip.

With another sigh, he made his way inside.

On the bridge, a slew of agents shuffled from one end of the large deck to the other typing in coordinates, watching weather patterns, monitoring countries from end of the globe to the other, and right in the center of it all was their leader—a burly, African-American man, bald as the day he was born, wearing an expression more menacing than his eyepatch or his black coat. He turned his good eye to the lift behind him as two of his best agents emerged separately, seating themselves at the debriefing table, before his eye caught sight of the three men entering.

He smirked. "Good morning, gentleman."

The three men looked at each other and then the blond stepped forward, finally, and spoke:

"Good morning, Fury. What's this about?"

**Granny's, 11:15am**

"You don't have to do this, Emma," Ruby said as she placed a stack of pancakes in front of Henry and a strawberry muffin in front of the other woman. "We know who we are now. We won't let Regina or Gold get the best of us anymore. We could—we _would_ protect you. And Henry."

"Look," Emma said, breaking off a piece of the muffin but not yet eating it. She was staring at it—through it—thoughtfully before she turned her eyes up toward the young woman in front of her. "I know. I don't have to. But I made a deal. And I don't want to risk Gold going back on _his_ word. As far as I know, Ashley and her baby are doing well together. I don't want to jeopardize that. Plus..."

Ruby frowned, and Henry watched his mother, carefully, as she added sugar to her coffee and stirred it, disappearing into her own mind again for a moment. She paused in her stirring and continued, finally: "I can't imagine knowing Henry like I know him now...and then having him ripped from me and taken somewhere I couldn't follow. Gold may be a jerk, but he deserves to find his son."

Ruby sighed with a shrug and turned, seeing to her next table. Henry tilted his head at Emma.

"Mom," he began and Emma looked up at him, curiously. He quirked his lips to the side, thinking for a moment and then smiled at her a little. "Just be careful, okay?"

Emma smiled back. "For a sec, I thought you were gonna ask to go with me. _Again_."

"No...but you're right. About Rumplestiltskin—Mr. Gold. He deserves to find his son. Like I found you."

Emma wanted to speak. To say something. To tell Henry how much she loved him and that she'd never leave him again. But love...was still so hard for her and though she felt it with every piece of her heart, it was hard to verbalize it, even now. So, with a subtle movement, she reached over the table and ruffled his hair, her smile glowing at him.

**S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, 11:15am**

"Sit down, gentleman," Nick Fury said to the men who'd just arrived. The well-groomed Tony Stark looked at him, skeptically, but moved toward the debriefing table and took a seat next to Clint Barton, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s resident archer.

Bruce Banner and Steve Rogers exchanged looks but both took a seat as well, on each side of Natasha Romanoff, the elustrious Black Widow.

There was another loud crack of thunder outside, which caused the Helicarrier to rumble, turbulently, for a moment and Nick nodded.

"Sounds like our last guest is here," he said. "Hill, get that soundbyte ready. I wanna start as soon as he gets in here."

The tall woman in the S.H.I.E.L.D. Jumpsuit nodded and made her way to the main computer panel just in front of the table where they were all seated, quietly. She typed in a sequence of codes and an audio bar popped up on the screen. She moved to the side of the computer and folded her arms behind her, keeping her posture straight and her face unreadable.

There was a bit of commotion outside and then a voice, booming, "-of Thunder and I will bring Mjolnir where I please! My comrades know I will not do them harm—again!"

Thor appeared in the threshold, flanked by two S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents who looked a little frantic, as if they might get in trouble because Thor had trapesed, carrying his massive and powerful hammer of legend.

"It's alright," Fury said, waving them off. They returned to their stations on the outer deck and Thor dropped Mjolnir to the ground, causing the whole ship to shudder. He blushed, sheepishly, and mumbled, "My apologies."

He seated his massive body in a chair opposite Steve, resting his beefy arms on the table in front of him. "What is this gathering in regards to, Fury?"

"Glad you asked that, Thor," Fury said and moved toward the panel Maria Hill had just been operating. He pressed a button on the flat, transparent glass and a sound clip began to play.

_"Honey...you're not gonna believe what I saw..."_

"_What? What is it, Greg? It can't be more important than you getting into an accident!"_

"No, no, _**listen**__! It was magic, hon. __**Magic****."**_

_"Greg...did you hit your head in that accident?"_

Fury ended the clip there and turned to them, hands on his hips. "That was made from Storybrooke, Maine by a man named Greg Mendel, early this morning."

Natasha furrowed her brow, her leather clad arms crossed, tightly, across her bosom. "So? People must make calls like that all over this country. Why is this one so special?"

Fury paced for a moment and then paused in front of them. "Because it was made from a location in Maine that, as of a few months ago, hasn't shown up on a map, in a web search or in any form of town location until right now."

Tony leaned forward, placing a steepled hand on the table and said, "So you're trying to tell us you think this guy is actually telling the truth? Not even his girlfriend sounded very convinced."

"I'm sayin' its worth checking out. Magic and our kind don't usually tend to mix well," Fury replied.

"So, you called us all in to...what? Storm this town dressed in our gear like, what, some kind of heroes?" Tony said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I mean, I get that we saved the galaxy or whatever last time but what if this town is getting on just fine?"

"That's just it, Mr. Stark," Fury argued. "This town just appeared on our radar. We don't know virtually anything about it. And if something strange is going on here, we need to investigate it. That's our job, as S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Okaaaay, well, hate to break it to you, big man, but we," Tony gestured toward Steve, Bruce and Thor, "are not 'officially'," he used air-quotes, "part of S.H.I.E.L.D. So...why are we here?"

"Well, you don't strictly need to be," Fury said. "In fact, I really only have a favor to ask of one of you. The rest of you are only here should Plan A go...wrong."

"And...what exactly is Plan A, Nick?" Bruce asked, frowning. He had a bad feeling about this.

"Infiltration. Investigation. Getting intel on this town before things go haywire. If things go haywire. Like I said, the world is filling up with people that can't be matched. So we need to get the jump on their arrival before anything goes wrong."

"So, who's doing the infiltrating? Obviously not the famous Captain America or the infamous Tony Stark," Clint pointed out, gesturing to the men.

" Me and inconspicuous are not exactly copacetic," Bruce offered.

"Yeah and lets not forget Shakespeare in the Park over here," Tony said, pointing to Thor. "Maine is a bay state, not a mountain region, Deliverance. Sorry 'bout that."

"No, no, I wasn't planning on any of you going in," Fury said and looked at Natasha. The redhead smirked.

"How'd I know that was going to happen?" she said and leaned back in her chair. "Is that the favor you were going to ask?"

"No, that is an order, Agent Romanoff. The favor," he began, turning his eyes to Thor, "is from you."

"Me?" Thor questioned. They all sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment and then it dawned on them.

"Oh no, are you kidding me?" Clint barked, the first to completely disagreewith even the notion.

"He's the only one we have access to with extensive knowledge on the ins-and-outs of anything to do with magic," Fury replied. "At least, you have access to him, Thor, I'd guess."

Thor swallowed, hard, and leaned back in his chair, his gun-barrel arms crossing over his wide chest, heavily. "It is true. I do. But Father would never allow his sentence to be cut short. He was livid at the mere idea of what he'd attempted to do here on Earth."

"What punishment did that slimy bastard get?" Clint asked, eager to hear the details. Natasha's eyes darkened. She knew the haunting memories still plagued Clint. Still, she didn't like seeing him so...vengeful.

"He has been sentenced to 10,000 years of torture. Chained under the dripping fangs of a heinous serpent, tormented by its trickling venom every moment," Thor said, quietly, his voice cracking.

"Nevertheless," Fury interjected finally. "I still need him. I don't know what its gonna take to get your father to back down, but I can assure you, we're gonna take every precaution while he's working with us. That's why the rest of you are here."

"Director Fury, I will try my best, but-" Thor began but Fury cut him off.

"We need more than try, Thor. I don't know what we'll be facing but if's it any kind of magic like what he brought down on us, recently then," Fury paused, then finally: "we need Loki."

**Storybrooke, 11:45am**

Emma entered Rumplestiltskin's shop with a bag slung over her shoulder and her car keys in her hand. She hated the thought of leaving Henry, but she had learned a long time ago that the straight and narrow usually yielded better results. She'd honor her deal with Gold. Still, Cora was still out there somewhere, Hook was only a week from recovery and people could now waltz in and out of Storybrooke. It didn't seem like the best time to leave.

Nonetheless, she was going to go forward with these plans.

As the shop's bell rang and she called out for Gold, she found it odd that there wasn't an immediate answer. She moved forward on the shop's natural path, to the counter and set her bag down next to her. Taking a look around, she noticed the dreamcaster she'd used on Pongo and frowned as a wave of memories flooded back to her.

Memories of Henry's father...of Tallahassee...of a future...

She was reminded of Hook's question. Have you ever even been in love? Once. Only once. And it had led her to pain, heartache and loneliness. She should have known. He'd been a thief. A dishonest man. She should've known he was lying from the beginning. Obviously, that kind of man could never be trusted.

I just did what you would've eventually done.

Actually, no.

Why was she remembering this conversation with Hook? Her brow furrowed, and her heart pumped faster, as if her body was responding to something obvious her subconscious was trying to tell her. She tried to shake those thoughts away.

I can't take a chance that I'm wrong about you.

"Grr," she verbalized. No. Not again. She would not go through it again. Memories of past experiences were supposed to be the warnings that kept history from repeating itself, no matter what face history was wearing.

Car thief. Or pirate.

Hey, beautiful.

"Grrrr!" Emma said again and the strange, white globe she'd been fingering, carefully when whirling as she pushed the force of her whole palm into it in irritation.

The bell jingled and a voice followed, "Now, now, Miss Swan, I'll have you bein' careful with that...unless you want to owe me another favor."

She turned and there was Gold, standing, dressed in his crisp black suit, leaning heavily on his cane. She swallowed, embarrassed and nodded silently. Then: "Where have you been?"

"Seeing to Belle, Miss Swan."

The woman tensed.

"Not to worry. I kept my distance," he murmured and then his face grew distant. Her brow furrowed again.

He moved toward her, touched the globe and he gleamed to life in tones of white and red, and she could see the shape of the USA shine forth, with a small, glowing white speck staring at them from the middle East Coast.

Gold looked at it, sadly, for a moment and then murmured, "I'm afraid I'll have to put our trip on hold for the time being, Miss Swan."

Her eyes's widened, suddenly, unsure what to make of that. She'd believed the search for his son had been Gold's top priority since he'd arrived in Storybrooke.

"Why?" Her own face darkened, "You're not planning on killing Hook, are you? Because though he is a prisoner of the sheriff's department, he's still a human residing in Storybrooke under the same protection from the law that-"

"Enough," Gold replied. "No. I don't plan on killing him. Yet. It isn't about him. It's Belle."

Emma frowned, deeply.

"Dr. Whale says every time she falls asleep, she wakes up in a fit of convulsions no more than an hour later."

"What? Why?"

"Unexplainable at this point. But my best guesses? Either my magic when I healed her has triggered something, or she's having violent nightmares that are affecting her physically."

"Do you think its her memories trying to break through?"

Gold let out a bitter chuckle. "I won't even entertain the idea."

Emma watched him, carefully, leaning back against the glass counter behind her. "So, why postpone, then? Dr. Whale can take care of Belle. Her seizures aren't being caused by anybody attacking her or doing her harm. They're medical—physical. Nothing you can do about it. Why risk losing your shot at finding your son?"

"Because if she dies while I'm gone...if anything were to happen to her while I was away...I'd hate myself almost as much as I do when I think I let Bae go through that portal without me," he replied.

"That wasn't stopping you before, when you thought someone was going to do her harm," Emma offered, raising an eyebrow.

"That was different," he snapped, glaring at her. "Someone willingly wanting to hurt anyone as good-hearted as Belle is deplorable. It deserves death. And threatening death is a good way to keep it from happening. But this...this is beyond mine or anyone's control. This is different. There is no way to keep this from happening. No one could. Not your family. Not that hook-handed bastard. No one. I have to stay until I know it's not going to end her. Bae...Bae would understand." I hope.

Emma watched Gold, intently, watched his eyes, his posture. Maybe Belle was right. Maybe there was still good in him.

"Fine," Emma said, finally. She picked up her bag and moved toward the door, then paused and turned to look at him. "Just know...that I'm good for it. I'll go whenever you say go. But it's not just 'cause I owe it to you. I...found my son. I'll help you find yours. Plus...I think someone needs to believe in you in Belle's place. For now."

With that, she left the store, leaving Gold to watch her go, his expression painted with awe, but only just.

**Asgard, Time Unknown.**

Thor returned to Asgard as easily as he'd come. Now that the Tesseract with safely back in the hands of the Asgardians, it had been a simple task to repair the Bifrost, so Thor could come and go as he pleased more easily than when he'd first met the Avengers.

Making his was down the long bridge toward the palace, he swung Mjolnir, absentmindedly, trying to structure in his mind exactly how he'd approach his father with such a difficult and daunting question. Surely, Odin would be understanding. Or perhaps his mother, Frigga, could be persuaded to speak with him. In any case, Thor was so deeply engrossed in his thoughts, he didn't notice the three warriors barreling toward him or the beautiful maid who followed closely behind.

Only when they tackled him did he awaken from his musings.

"Thor! My friend, you have returned!" boomed Volstagg, grinning from ear to ear under his great red beard. "How was Midgard?"

"Fine, Volstagg, fine. I have brought you a gift." From his person, he pulled a small bag filled with sweet, gummy treats.

"Ah, some of Midgard's decadence! What did you say your young maid called it?" Volstagg asked as he took the bag from Thor's fingers.

"Jane calls it 'candy'," Thor replied and then turned to the rest of the group.

"How did the meeting of the Avengers fair?" Lady Sif asked, her long black hair pulled into a tight, straight ponytail.

"Well enough," Thor said, and the four of them exchanged a look when his expression darkened.

"Is something wrong, my friend?" Fandral asked.

Thor frowned and glanced around before murmuring, "Let's take this inside."

**Asgard, 20 minutes later.**

"What they are asking is foolish! And dangerous!" Sif cried, pacing heavily across the floor in one of the palace's many recreational rooms. Thor had chosen one he knew his father and mother didn't often wander into in order to explain exactly what it was Fury was requesting, in hopes his closest friends may have some advice on how he might best approach Odin.

"It is unheard of, my prince," Hogun said, his voice low and quiet. "Your father will not yield."

"And really, why should he?" Fandral said, leaning back on a plush chaise lounge, and examining his reflection in a shining dagger he was fidgeting with. "Loki is unruly. Unpredictable, and an unconscionable liar. He's a trickster, Thor. As soon as Odin releases him, he will charm anyone and anything in his path to get his way."

"Look, my friends," Thor began, and Sif could see in his eyes that there was a war going on in his heart, "I do not do this for Loki's sake. You must understand...I do love my brother. Thousands of years worth of familial bonds cannot so easily break. However, I know who he is—what he is. This is not for him. This is for Midgard...for the Avengers...for Jane. If what Fury suspects come to pass...Midgard could be in grave danger. And Fury is correct...no one knows magic like my brother. Not myself, nor even our father. He is clearly the best choice to investigate this."

"If he will cooperate long enough to investigate," Sif offered, firmly. "And cooperation has never been Loki's forte."

"Friends," Thor said, his voice now stern. "I did not bring you in here and tell you of my plights to be dissuaded or reprimanded. I must speak to my father either way. I simply need some advice on how to approach the matter appropriately."

Volstagg, who up until this point had been chewing, heartily, on his gummy candy, shook his head. "There is no appropriate way to approach such a thing, Thor. You must simply ask and be prepared for the worst! That is the way of it with the All-Father."

Despite it not being what Thor wanted to hear, he knew Volstagg—and all of his friends—were right.

**Throne Room, 10 minutes later**

Thor entered the palace's throne room with the grip of tension on his heart. He really didn't know how to approach this, and he knew his father's initial response would be to deny his request. On top of that, he hadn't been completely honest with his friends. Though, he knew, for the most part, that Loki's release would be a solely professional endeavor, the part of his heart that still felt that brotherly bond wanted to plead for Loki's freedom for reasons outside of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s agenda.

He hoped his father would not pick up on that. He would even more surely deny him, then. Even though Thor knew that Odin loved Loki, Thor and Frigga's sympathy toward him made Odin's decision more difficult. Odin had to appear strong for his people, dealing out just punishment to any who acted out against the realms. Thor was sure his father wanted just as much as himself and his mother to give Loki pardon, but he knew he'd lose the respect of Midgard and Asgard alike if he did that. The fact that Thor and Frigga expressed such emotions outwardly, of course, made Odin look and feel worse.

Nevertheless, Odin has done what any fair king would, and now Thor had to try to convince him to change his mind. Surely, that wouldn't reflect well on Asgard's heir.

Which is why he had to offer this as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s idea alone, no matter how much he secretly wished for his brother's freedom, himself.

"Thor! My son!" came a voice from the front of the room and Frigga, his mother, dressed in long, shimmering golden gown rushed toward him, her blonde hair pulled into beautiful and intricate curls that bounced around her face, a face that glowed with excitement to see her eldest home safely. She threw her slim, toned arms around his neck and kissed both cheeks in welcome. "I am so glad to see your safe return."

"Hello, Mother," Thor replied and kissed her cheek, as well. Taking her arm, they moved together toward the throne of Asgard, where his father, Odin, a gray-bearded, one-eyed picture of regality and strength, peered down at them, quietly.

"Father," Thor said and pressed his fist to his chest, respectfully, bowing his head.

"My son," Odin said.

Thor's turned his eyes back to his father and murmured, "I must speak with you of something urgent, Father. It is—"

He was cut off by his father's strong hand lifting, gesturing in his direction. "I have already seen and heard all Nick Fury had to say."

Thor's brow furrowed, before it dawned on him. "Heimdall."

"Yes. I had assumed that Director Fury would ask something of this sort when Heimdall, himself, told me of the strange town which had been, until only a few months ago, been shrouded from his sight and then, suddenly, come under his watchful gaze as if it had never been hidden in the first place."

"Father?" Thor asked, expectantly.

"My answer is no."

Frigga looked to her husband, her face pained, a deep frown causing deep creases in her fair skin just around the mouth. "My love..."

"His unruliness nearly ended an entire realm. His reckless, childish hate nearly destroyed one of the fair branches of Yggdrisil. My answer is no!"

"Father, there is no other as suited for this task as Loki!" Thor argued, firmly. "And you needn't fear, as Director Fury has called in all of the Avengers should he get out of hand! Father, please. Jane is down there. And, as you just said, the rest of Midgard, a branch of our sacred Yggdrisil...Father..."

Odin was silent, firm.

"Father...if this town's sudden appearance is a precursor so something bigger...something unpredictable...something worse...how much more harm could Loki do? How do we not know he couldn't actually help?"

"Loki is my son, whom I love. But I will not risk the safety of the realms because I let you and your mother put emotion before duty!"

"This is no longer aboutthe way I feel toward your decision, my father, it is about S.H.I.E.L.D.'s requ-!"

"Do not lie to me!" hissed the All-Father, pointing his staff at Thor. "I see right through you, boy! I see deep into your heart. It still lingers in the suffering of your younger brother, the child which you so willingly protected for millenia. You protect him, even now. You wish his freedom in your heart, and it is written on your face, yet you hide behind the guise of duty! You may be Midgard's protector, my son, but you will fail in that task if I allow you to take him back with you."

Thor's expression crumbled, and he was at a loss for words.

Suddenly, Odin's demeanor softened a little and he sighed. "You think me cruel, but I only wish to do right by Midgard. And I deserve to anguish in his suffering as much as he."

"Father, I do not think you-"

"I betrayed his heart," Odin continued, "by keeping the truth from him. I created the monster that he became. Therefore, it is my duty, as much as it pains my very core, to right the wrong I created. His punishment is just...for the both of us."

"Oh, my love..." Frigga breathed, placing her hand gently over her heart, a gesture that she too felt the pain her husband so somberly described.

"Father..." Thor entreated. "Wouldn't it then be wiser...to give Loki a chance to prove...he is more than simply a Jotun? To prove you both wrong?"

"I fear we are beyond that now, Thor," Odin admonished. "It is too late."

"No, Father. It is never too late. Please...give him a chance...give me a chance. I will be responsible for him. If he does anything against mine or S.H.I.E.L.D.'s wishes, I will...I will bring him straight home, where he may finish the rest of his sentence...uninterrupted. I will even bear his punishment with him."

Odin lifted his eyes to his eldest son, studying him for a moment. He held himself as a king would, strong, determined. Doing only what he thought was best for Midgard, the realm he had proclaimed himself protector of. Even offering to share in Loki's punishment should his plans fail. Sacrificing himself.

He truly had become the man Odin had believed he could be.

He glanced, then, at his wife, who smiled, the expression sad but reassuring. Then, he turned his gaze back to Thor and gave a nod. "Very well. Very well, I will grant your request. But I will hold you to your word, my son. Should he fail—should you fail—you will both suffer Loki's punishment."

Thor nodded, and placed his fist to his chest again. "Thank you, Father."

There was a curt nod from Odin, before he gestured to the guards at the end of the throne room. "Go. Collect my son. Return Loki to me."

**Mary-Margaret's Apartment, 12:20pm.**

Emma opened the large, white door into Mary-Margaret's apartment, sighing, tiredly. She'd been up all night at the hospital, and then had been packing all morning for her trip with Gold and she was beat. She just wanted to lay down and sleep for a week, especially now that the trip was off. Before she could make it to her bed, however, she heard the door open and her parents and Henry entered a moment later.

The trio paused, upon seeing her, and blinked, confusion painted on their faces.

"Mom?" Henry asked. "Shouldn't you be gone?"

Emma smiled, tiredly, at them and shrugged. "Gold canceled."

"He...canceled?" Mary-Margaret asked, moving toward her, taking her luggage and jacket from her, gently. She could tell her poor daughter was exhausted.

"Yeah. Said something was up with Belle...seizures or something and that he shouldn't leave just yet. That his son could wait but he'd hate himself if Belle died while he was out searching," Emma replied, sitting down on one of the kitchen barstools.

"Emma..." David placed his hands on his hips. "We just came from the hospital. Belle is fine. She was awake. She was laughing-"

"More like flirting," mumbled Mary-Margaret sourly.

"-with Dr. Whale."

Emma's brow furrowed. "Are you...are you sure?"

"Pretty positive."

"Then...why? Why would he cancel?"

The three of them shrugged.

Emma glanced away, staring intently at the counter beneath her elbow, as if trying to find the answer on its smooth tiled surface. "...he sounded so sure..."

"Well, Rumplestiltskin has always been a good trickster," Mary-Margaret admonished. "You have to be to make the backwards kind of deals he does. Making a lie sound true wouldn't be too hard for him."

Emma's brow only creased deeper. But why...why? Then, something dawned on her. If Belle's fabricated illness was a lie, what else that he'd told her had been a lie?

Oh, crap!

"I have to check on something!" Emma cried, and ripped her jacket from her mother's arms, throwing it back on and rushing out of the apartment quickly, grabbing her keys off of the hook by the door so fast, she nearly ripped the key-holder off the wall.

**Storybrooke Hospital, 12:27pm.**

Emma rushed into the hospital in a frenzy, blowing past the orderlies and nurses so quickly, she nearly knocked them off of their scrub-clad feet. Moving past Belle's room, into the back, she rushed into the private room with the frosted-over windows where Hook was being kept, expecting to see him beat to a bloody mess.

Instead, she found he was untouched. Asleep, in fact, with his head resting sideways on his pillow and his mouth hanging open just slightly.

Emma let herself calm down almost immediately and let out a silent sigh. Sitting in the chair in the corner of the room, she allowed herself to catch her breath and watched him for a moment. His breathing was steady, his chest rising an falling with just a little strain due to the injuries, she was sure. In his sleep, he didn't look like the same vengeful man who'd come to Storybrooke, sleighted and angry. He looked...younger. More at peace. Like a sleeping child.

Emma frowned. I don't know what to make of you, sometimes. Her eyes fell to his stump and she could only imagine how helpless one might feel losing a hand. The need to look and act more powerful might be a defense mechanism one might adopt to cope with that kind of loss.

That's not true. It's a defense against any kind of loss. Not just physical.

Emma knew that better than anyone.

Shaking those thoughts away, she nodded and stood. She was satisfied in the assumption that Gold had not come here and tried to hurt Hook. But then why had he canceled? Feeling even more confused than before, Emma shook her head again and began to leave.

"Going already, luv?" came a groggy voice a few feet away. Emma paused at the foot of the bed and turned to look at Killian. His eyes were at half-mast, and he was smirking, weakly.

"How long have you known?"

"Oh, since you got here," he said and yawned a little. "You didn't exactly enter quietly, darling."

"I was just-"

"What?" he asked, and grinned from ear to ear. "You sounded worried when you entered."

"I wasn't."

"Liar."

Emma seethed, internally, at him before sighing and crossing her arms over her chest. "Gold canceled. I was making sure he hadn't come...to make good on his intent to kill you."

"So, you were worried." He was grinning. Cheeky bastard.

"Yes."

"I'm touched."

"About him. I'd hate to have to arrest him before he can figure out how to save Belle's memories."

Killian scoffed. "He deserves it. All of it. Any pain and suffering he may have to endure is what he deserves. May even be too good for him. He deserves worse than pain, worse than suffering, worse than death for what he's done."

"And you think you're any better? You hurt Belle."

"But I didn't kill her."

That took Emma aback. She hadn't thought of that. He had gotten his revenge in a sense. He'd taken Gold's heart and crushed it. But he hadn't killed anyone. Not the way Gold had killed...

"I would never stoop to his level," Killian mumbled. "I'd rather he kill me...reunite me with Milah...than let myself stoop to his scaly level."

"You took Aurora's heart."

"It gave me an excuse to free her without suspicion from Cora. I also saved it from falling into the portal."

That's true.

Emma clenched her jaw, glancing up at the door in front of her. Then she looked back at him, unsure what to think or believe anymore.

Killian could see this insecurity on her face, and after a moment of silent thought, he murmured, "I'm not the man you've painted me to be."

"It isn't me. It's this world. In our stories...you're not such a good guy," Emma murmured.

"Perhaps I'm not. But, perhaps, I'm not all bad either, lass."

Emma looked at him again, and their eyes bore into each other. She wanted to give in, to let his words pierce her deeply, to "try something new...called trust" as he'd once said. She wanted to trust him, but...

Henry.

Neal.

"Sorry, Hook, but..."

"I know," he said, almost bitterly as he glared at her. "You can't risk being wrong about me."

As she left, she'd never hated hearing her own words slung back at her as much as in that moment.

**Asgard, Time Unknown.**

The guards were gone for a long while, and Thor began to pace nervously. Had Loki, once he'd been freed, gone into a rage? If not, what was taking so long? And what kind of shape would his dear younger brother be in? Would he be drained of all he had once been? Surely, part of him deserved to die—the part which had warred against Midgard—but there were many parts of Loki that Thor still loved. He didn't want all of Loki to be washed away.

Finally, there was the clik-clak of boots against the polished marble of the palace, and from around the corner came the two guard, flanking a man so familiar, yet unfamiliar to Thor. His long, black hair was disheveled, his clothes were torn and dirt and his skin was covered in a thick film of grime, dirt and persperation. There also raw, red splotches embedded in his skin and Thor knew, had Loki not been a break from the viper's poison and a chance to heal, they would be much, much worse.

Thor frowned deeply, his shoulders slumping a little when he noticed the dead expression in Loki's usually mischievous green eyes.

"Loki," Odin bellowed from his place on his throne. "You must be wondering why I've released you from your prison."

"You think so?" murmured a voice, so cracked and taut that Thor almost didn't recognize it.

"My son-"

Thor took a step back as those dead green eyes snapped up, boring into Odin with such intense anger. Don't call me that, was their clear demand.

"Your brother has requested your help."

There was a pregnant silence before Loki began to laugh, chuckling, the sound deep and bitter before he snapped, "And why should I help him? Or any of you? You, who subjected me to the viper's venom? Me, a Prince of Asgard. Right, Father? That is your great lie, isn't it? That I am as much a prince as he? Why, why would I ever help any of you?"

Thor winced, bowing his head in defeat, his hands fisting at his sides.

"You will do as your told unless you want to return to your spot under the viper's fangs," Odin replied. "Or perhaps I need to double your sentence?"

"No, Father, please," Thor said, taking a step toward him. "Do not punish him further. He has a right to refuse if he wishes."

Odin glanced at Thor and then gave a small nod. He looked to Loki. "Your brother has offered an alternative to your present sentence, Loki."

"Oh, I'm just dying to hear it," the Trickster grumbled.

"He wishes to give you a chance to prove your worth. He wishes for you to return to Midgard with him and complete a task he believes only you are fit for. In exchange, should you be successful..." He paused, and looked from his wife to his eldest son, as if, silently, giving them his word. Then: "...I will revoke your sentence. You will be free to do whatever you wish. Stay in Asgard. Leave. Wander. Even die if that is what you wish."

Frigga and Thor looked shocked for a moment. That Odin would completely reverse his judgement on Loki was a large decision—perhaps even a sacrifice if the people of Asgard disagreed. However, it made sense. A large reconciliation deserved a large reward. And if Loki truly could change, then he deserved to be given the chance at freedom again.

Loki glanced at his father, then Thor, and finally at his mother. And it was in her face, her expression of pleading, that made the disgraced god of mischief finally give in.

"Very well. I will help." But if Thor thinks my assistance is permanent, he will be in for a rude awakening. I will take what I deserve the first chance I get—my freedom...and my vengeance.

**Please Review.**

**Romans 8:38-39 - "For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord."**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything. You know.**

**Non-beta'd**

Chapter 2

**S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, The Next Day, 7:45am**

Natasha Romanoff awoke to the loud crack of thunder just outside. The sound was unnatural, much louder and deeper than a normal thunderstorm, and that is what alerted her to the return of the Avengers' Asgardian ally. She stood from her bed, her bare feet touching the cold metal floor, her hair, which had grown into a long mane of red curls since her first encounter with the team, mussed and disheveled.

She made her way into the adjacent bathroom and washed up, splashing cold water on her face as the thundering outside made her tense. Yes, Thor was returning.

But if he'd been successful, so was _he_.

Natasha lifted her head and glanced at her face in the mirror, devoid of make-up, but also devoid of any expression which could give away what she was really feeling within. Her training had instilled that—practically beaten it—into her. She couldn't let anyone on to the fact that Loki's return lit a flame of uncertainty in her that frightened her to her core.

His words echoed in her mind.

_I'll make him kill you..._

_Slowly..._

_**Intimately**__..._

_In every way he knows you_ _**fear**__..._

She stared past the mirror, into her psyche, for a moment, processing the words, letting a single, small tremble bubble up through her body before blinking and glancing away from her reflection. Carefully, she removed herself from her sleepwear and showered, washing away any uncertainty that could have a palpable affect on those around her—on him.

Thankfully, though his words had actually shaken her in the past, it was only the fabricated emotions he'd picked up on, and through that, she'd gotten the better of him. She had tricked the Trickster.

Still, the fear was real, and it didn't disappear just because she was a good actress.

Finally, the thunder ceased and one final shudder went through Natasha at the realization that Loki was on board their precious base, uncaged, free to do and be as he pleased. Shaking the last of her hesitance off, however, she stepped out of the shower and readied herself for the day. She would not let this deter her mission, even if her mission was to work with Loki.

With a final zip and snap of her gear, she left her room, standing tall and determined, not letting an inch of what was below the surface wiggle its way up onto her face.

**Granny's, 8:20am.**

Emma sat at the bar in Granny's diner and sipped a cup of coffee, thoughtfully. Gold's behavior from the day before was still worrying her. What, besides Belle, could have possibly sidetracked Gold for even a second? What could have made him change his mind about finding his son so quickly, if not Hook? And Hook was alive and well in the hospital according to Dr. Whale—whom she'd called at least six times since she's woken that morning to make sure that status hadn't changed.

So, what was it?

"Emma?" Granny said from behind the counter.

Emma looked up. "Huh?"

"I asked if you wanted a refill, hun."

"Oh." Emma blushed, feeling careless for getting so lost in thought like that. "Sure. Thanks." She held her cup out for Granny, who topped her off and then went on. Before Emma could return to her musings, Ruby, who's fire-and-night hair was pulled into a loose braid today, sat down on the bar stool next to her, her black apron hitting just above the knees as she crossed her feet at the ankles.

"You look distracted again, Emma," she said as Emma poured sugar and cream into her fresh coffee and stirred.

"I am," she mumbled, staring at the now creamy color of the liquid. Her head then snapped around to look at Ruby. "I just don't get it. If Gold isn't going to find his son, why hasn't he killed Hook yet? And what could possibly cause him to change his plans so suddenly when this kid was the whole reason he tricked his way into this curse in the first place? It just doesn't make any sense."

"Let me tell you something about Rumplestiltskin," Ruby said, turning the bar stool so her legs were not trapped under the bar and she could cross them properly. "He doesn't often make sense to us. But he always makes sense to himself. And you can bet if changed his mind, he has a good reason for it. Good for him. He's all about personal gain, Emma. He doesn't care what he has to do to get it."

Emma frowned. _That does sound like Gold. Still..._

**Gold's Shop, 8:20am**

Gold stepped out from the back of his shop and jumped a little. Sitting on one of the many counters full of knick-knacks and trinkets was a woman, dressed in long, straight-legged jeans and a dark-green blouse that showed off slim, unblemished arms and the beginnings of pale, inviting cleavage. Her blonde hair fell in unnatural waves around her shoulders and her green eyes were piercing.

And this was not the first time this woman had visited his shop.

"Ah, it's just you, Emery," Gold said, coldly, unperturbed by her presence, suddenly.

The woman jumped down from her spot among the antiques and smirked, saucily, at him. "Good morning, Rumplestiltskin. It seems you took my words into account. You're still here." Her voice held had an unfamiliar lilt, sounding British, but foreign, unfamiliar, strange.

Gold's expression darkened. "Emery, I allowed you to live when you _appeared_ one night in my castle courtyard because I could sense great power in you. Great power fettered by something greater than yourself. What makes you think I trust your judgments now?"

"Because you didn't leave. I assure you, Rumplestiltskin. Something is coming...something that you may be able to use to aid the return of your precious Belle's memories. Magic the likes of which you've never seen."

"And you have?"

"Perhaps," she said, shrugging.

"There was no magic in this world before Storybrooke."

"That's what you say. And you're right, in a sense," she replied. "This magic isn't _from_ this world. But another."

"Emery, you're testing my patience."

The blonde woman smirked again. "And you are testing my theory. You think I'm correct and that is why you've yet to leave. I suppose we shall see, won't we, Rumplestiltskin?"

Gold's eyes narrowed and the woman sauntered toward the door. As she left, leaving the sound of the door's welcome bell echoing behind her, he murmured, "I suppose we will."

**S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, 8:20am**

It took thirty-five minutes for Loki to get the proper clearance to come aboard the Helicarrier's bridge. He had to be checked from head to toe for any concealed weapons or apparent weapons and then, smirking when he thought they'd let him proceed after that, he'd been fashioned with a pair of cuffs, one on each wrist, which Bruce Banner had designed based on the designs from Loki's staff, to suppress his magic.

Now smirkless, he followed Thor onto the Helicarrier's bridge, his appearance much more _normal_ from when Thor had seen him only a day previous. He was bathed, groomed and dressed, his black hair, which had grown out long over the course of his punishment, cut back to it's normal length, his face, which had shown signs of scruff, now clean-shaven. Though the red welts from the poison still lingered slightly, they were barely apparent, though much more so now that his very pale complexion was clean of any dirt or grime. He wore not his princely garbs of emerald green, ornately embroidered with gold, but a simple tunic, dyed a muted green. It hung loosely, belted in the middle, over a garment of black which covered his neck, arms and torso. On his legs were simply black trousers and a pair of worn black leather boots.

Next to Thor, he felt inferior and he hated that feeling, but it was made all the worse when they approached the table where the Avengers sat, and there were Stark and Barton, grinning, cheekily, at him, knowing that he had demanded a crown and been handed a serpent instead.

"Mr. Odinson. Please, have a seat," Fury said as he approached from behind, his trenchcoat billowing in the movement. "There's a spot there, next to Agent Romanoff."

On Natasha's right, Clint sat, grinning at Loki. But as soon as the Trickster was ordered to take a seat on Natasha's other side, the grin fell and a dark expression appeared instead. Loki didn't have to speak. He simply smirked at Clint in return and did as he was told, sitting down on Natasha's left, intentionally brushing his shoulder against hers.

Heat coursed up her shoulder and neck.

She shook it off, internally.

"Good. Now, Mr. Odinson, I'm sure you're wondering why-"

"I would prefer not to be called by that name, Director," Loki deadpanned, his eyes displeased with the terms by which he was being called.

Fury didn't look amused at being interrupted and said, half-sarcastically, "Is there a name you'd prefer, or should I just call you Real Power?"

Loki's expression darkened, dangerously, at the jab which Fury had so blatantly used on him during their previous encounter. "Laufeyson will do if you insist on using such formalties, Director."

"You don't expect me to call you Loki, do you? 'cause you and I aren't friends, and to be frank, I don't really _like_ you. You're only here 'cause you have to be, got it? Now, sit there, and shut up, Mr. Laufeyson, okay?"

"As you wish," Loki replied, and waved a nonchalant hand at him to continue.

"_Now_," Fury began again, glancing at Loki with irritated eyes, "I'm sure you're wondering why you're here, Mr. Laufeyson."

"Do enlighten me. My boarish _brother_," Loki spat the word like poison out of his mouth and Natasha watched Thor wince, "could not articulate such an intricate plan for the love of Asgard itself, I'm sure. In any case, he told me little."

Fury played the soundbyte for Loki, before explaining what he'd just told his team the day prior.

"I see," Loki murmured and leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and steepling his long fingers. He placed his chin atop the steepled digits and glanced at Fury. "So, you intend to send me in to do what? I am a master of magic, it's true, but only my own."

"That," Tony chimed in, "is a blatant lie, ladies and gentlemen! Note the elegant yet powerful arm bands that our resident Rock of Ages is wearing. Notice how they keep us all from getting sideswiped by magical, mystical ass-kickings. That, my friends, is because they are fashioned from a magic that is not Loki's usual, run-of-the-mill, everyday, Asgardian variety. Might I also note they were made from similar designs as his spear?"

"What's your point, you Metal nuisance?" growled the Trickster, green eyes boring into him.

"My point, Bambi, is that you mastered the spear. The spear made from magic separate from your own. Which means you can master magic outside of what you know. Figure it out. Learn it. Adapt to it. But can we get a round of applause for that very convincing lie you tried to tell? Anyone? Anyone?"

"_Enough_," Loki hissed, jumping up, slamming his hands down on the table, denting the solid metal frame and allowing some of his Jotun features to slip through. Despite seeming meager in appearance compared to Thor, he was strong and though his magic was quelled, his natural Jotun strength was not.

Natasha watched his complexion change, briefly, eyes widening, before it returned to its (un)natural fleshy color, and she was astonished. What was that?

"Please, brother," Thor asked, willing Loki to be calm if with nothing but his eyes.

"Do not call me that. You are no brother of mine and I owe none of you anything. You call me here, expecting my help, yet you mock and ridicule me. Why should I endure this? Perhaps I would rather sit beneath the snake's venom than listen to anymore of this careless drivel-"

"Then, go!" Clint barked. "None of us want you here, you murdering freak!"

Thor was up now, anger burning in blue orbs. "Have care how you speak!"

"Clint, not necessary." Natasha. She was up now. Her hand was on his arm.

"No," Loki said, looking her dead in the eyes. "It is of little consequence how he speaks of me. I care naught for any of you and therefore, your words mean little." He turned to Maria Hill. "I wish to be shown my quarters. I will retire for now. If you are in need of my services, you can beg for my forgiveness later."

He stalked off, past Hill, and when she looked at Fury for confirmation, he nodded, and tossed her a pistol. Just in case.

Thor sunk back down in his chair and sighed.

Everyone was silent. Finally, it was Bruce who spoke. Spoke right at Clint.

"Look, I don't like him," he said and he was standing. He brushed out the wrinkles in his brown slacks and then leaned over, looking Clint in the eyes, his expression dead serious, "but if you ever call _anyone_ a freak around me again, I might just let the Other Guy have a swing or two at you."

If there was one thing Bruce Banner hated, it was the word freak. With that, he turned, placed a comforting hand on Thor's shoulder and left the bridge, quietly.

No one spoke or moved for a long while.

**Storybrooke Hospital, 9:30am**

Killian was bored. Beyond bored. He was lying, handcuffed, in a hospital bed, ribs broken, hookless, with nothing to do but eat disgusting hospital food (it was the Jell-O he really didn't like) and watch the magic moving picture box until a nurse came in to check his wounds, change his bandages and connect a new bag of medicine into his IV. The nurse usually wasn't even cute either.

Not that anyone could compare to Swan.

Then, there was that. The constant, incessant, non-stop thoughts about the elusive "princess" who wandered in and out of his hospital room every now and again to make sure that Gold hadn't done away with him yet. He'd seen her a few times today, in fact, but every time she appeared, she made an effort not to speak to him or make eye contact. Just looked him over once to make sure he was still in tact, nodded, satisfied, and left.

It was really beginning to irritate him. Couldn't she stay, just for a moment, and have a chat? He was losing his mind in this place, unable to do anything, unwanted by so many in the town and alone. He just wanted someone to bloody talk to!

As if on cue with his grating thoughts, the lovely Swan appeared, coming into his room in silence, looking him over, and then turning to leave. But, this time, Killian was bound and determined to get her to talk to him.

"Well, darling," he said, which gave her pause. He smirked. Gotcha. "...you've yet to tell me why you haven't yet gone traversing this unknown land with the Crocodile yet."

That's because I don't know, was automatically Emma's first thought, but she murmured, "That's none of your business."

"Oh, but..." He glanced at her, crystalline blue eyes watching every shifting movement, every twitching muscle as she tried to keep herself from seeming anxious or unsure. "I think it is. You see, it's as you said. I get out of this gods-forsaken place in a few days...and when I do, he'll still be here, ready and willing to take more than just my other hand. And if I'm not mistaken, you being Sheriff, have it as your honored task to keep me safe. Wouldn't it just be safer for me if you left with him, then?"

"Yes," Emma replied, placing her hands on her hips and keeping her face turned toward the door. "But that's not the case at this point in time. And I'm not about to discuss this with you."

"Well then bloody discuss something with me!" Killian finally snapped, and Emma's head jerked toward him, her eyes widening in surprise.

The pirate cursed inwardly and glanced down at his bedsheets. He didn't want to admit he was bored—or lonely. He didn't want to admit he appreciated—in fact, really enjoyed—her company. After leaving him chained up with the giant, he disliked admitting that he felt anything for her at all. A part of him wanted to hate her, to do the same to her as she'd done to him. The rest of him, however, couldn't get enough of her.

She was like a disease and it seemed he had a very bad case.

Luckily, and to his surprise, Emma moved to the chair near his bed and sat down, crossing her legs and arms, carefully, and watching him for a moment. There was silence. She didn't move. Then, she uncrossed, leaned forward, placed her elbows on her knees and nodded. "Okay," she began, "What do you want to talk about?"

**S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, Noon.**

There was a knock at Loki's door.

No answer.

Another.

Nothing.

Loki didn't feel like seeing anyone right now. He was furious and he wanted nothing but to destroy the whole of this idiotic vessel. But with the cuffs fastened around his wrists and with Nick Fury holding the only keys, he didn't have the means to do so.

But rest not, S.H.I.E.L.D., for my vengeance is coming.

A third knock and then: "Come on, Loki, open the door."

It was her.

The woman.

Romanoff.

Loki narrowed his green eyes as he turned his sharp features toward the large metal door standing between him and the only person who'd ever been able to outwit him. His pride trembled with rage, wounded by her trick, while the more primal parts of him carried a secret hunger for her—a woman with the brilliance to outsmart the Trickster god.

Standing, he stood up as straight and proud as he could, and pushed the button on the panel next to the door, allowing the metal slate to slide open along the concavity of it's track. Standing there in much the same outfit as she'd confronted him with, was the infamous Black Widow—the beautifully deadly Natash Romanoff—her hair much longer than he remembered, carrying a tray of what looked and smelled to be food.

"Thor thought you might be hungry," she said as she stepped in, not waiting for an invitation. She set the tray down and turned to leave, but found herself caught between the wall and the Trickster himself.

"And why did he not bring it himself?"

Her sudden entrapment didn't change her outward visage, even as her heart pounded in her chest to have this tall, menacing demigod towering over her. She knew he had no magic while he wore the cuffs but he still had his strength, his speed and his cunning mouth. Still, she didn't let him see her fear on her face.

"Everyone believes I'm better equipped to handle you," she replied. "Since you cooperated so well with me last time."

SLAM.

Flinch.

Dammit. Obviously not the right thing to say. Or the right reaction.

A deep, dented hand print was now visible in the wall where Loki had slammed his long, slender fingers, just inches from her face. He had been angry. But the anger vanished as quick as it had come when he saw her flinch. A smirk played on his lips now.

"You fear me," he said and leaned in close, warm breath brushing her cheeks. "I see it, Agent Romanoff. You tried to hide it...but you could not."

Anger burned inside her. Yes, perhaps she feared him. But she also hated him and wished him gone. Hated him for what he'd done to Clint. For what he'd brought out in her. Hated him for still being alive after all he'd put her friends and colleagues through.

Hated him because, once upon a time, she'd been just like him.

"Get. Away." She spat, glaring at him, blue meeting green in a sizzling optic duel. Instead, however, he reached up his slender hand and cupped her chin, causing her to gasp in shock. She tried to rip her jaw away but his grip tightened and she gasped, again, this time in pain, his hold strong, almost bone-crunching. He leaned in, again, his lips brushing against her ear, warm and moist. She shivered, and she told herself it was in disgust.

"You will not attain my cooperation so easily, again, Agent Romanoff," he whispered. "That I promise you."

Then, he pulled away from her, releasing her chin. They stared at each other for a long, silent moment before she moved past him, swiftly, toward the door. It swished open when she pressed the button panel frantically. She stepped out, then paused. She turned, long blood-red curls following her movement. Before the door swished closed again, she caught one last glimpse of him, watching her with mixed emotions. Anger, amusement, wounded pride.

And one she would not decipher easily in those green eyes, or ever forget.

She thought it might be remorse.

**New York City, Noon.**

He sat in the cafe near his building, sipping a cup of coffee. It was hot, black and it scalded his throat all the way down, but he didn't care. He was barely paying attention to it. He flipped the postcard over and over in his hand, trying to decide what he was going to do.

Welcome to Storybrook, it said, and he frowned as he read the words on the back. He had been tossing and turning over this for weeks now, unsure how he should address it. Should he just go? Could he go? How would he find it? He was almost positive magical towns didn't just appear on GoogleMaps. Still...

Emma was there...

But...so was _he_.

Jumping up from his seat and paying his bill, he began the short walk back to his home, going up the fire-escape and into his open window instead of taking the front entrance. He did that a lot, so that people wouldn't see him going into his apartment. Sooner or later, they'd make the connection that his intercom button was the only nameless one, and he rather liked staying anonymous.

Quietly, he slipped into his window and pulled a suitcase down from a nearby cabinet. The first thing he packed was an old, yellowing dreamcatcher.

Neal Cassidy was going to Storybrooke. For Emma. And for himself.

**SHIELD Helicarrier, 2:00pm**

"Loki."

A single, jet-black eyebrow shot up as cool green eyes turned to the intercom built into his door's code-panel.

He stood from where he had been meditating and moved to the panel box, pressing the intercom button. "Yes, Agent Hill? Was there something you needed? I'm really quite busy in here. Sitting quietly and doing nothing as it were. Of course, it's better than dealing with any of your half-witted team of heroes."

The response he got was a jumble, some bickering between what he could assume was Fury and Hill, and then he heard a reply of: "Get your ass down here now, Laufeyson, or I'll send you packin' back to Asgard and your Daddy can stick that pretty-boy face of yours back up under that poisonous snake. Are we clear?"

Half of Loki wanted to break the intercom for Fury's insolence and the other wanted to chuckle at how he'd gotten to the man, if even just a little. Instead, he simply murmured, "As you wish, sir." He spat the title, unwilling to put any man seriously above himself, before dialing in the code he'd been given and making his way out of the room. He jumped a little, surprised to find Natasha waiting for him.

"Agent Romanoff. What an unpleasant surprise."

"You and I are being given our assignments. We were both called at the same time. I figured if we made nice for Fury—and with each other—maybe we could make this trip a little more bearable for the both of us."

"I'm deeply sorry, Agent Romanoff, but," Loki began and started ahead of her, long, lean legs carrying him quickly down the Helicarrier's cold, metal hallways, "...I don't intend to make anything easy on anyone. It just isn't my way." He glanced over his shoulder and smirked.

Natasha snorted, grimacing. "Of course." Her expression soured quickly as she caught up to him. "You're insufferable."

"That was the plan," Loki murmured, grinning. Then, it fell into seriousness. "You think that just because I'm here I'm suddenly going to make nice with your buffoons? My job is to fix whatever mess you idiots have made and collect my freedom. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Hn. Well, then you're gonna have to cooperate or I'm gonna make getting your freedom really hard for you," Natasha hissed. Loki paused in his stride, which caused Natasha to halt a few steps in front of him. She turned, glancing at him.

His eyes were narrowed, his liar's tongue darting out to lick his lips, anxiously. She could tell by that gesture he was trying to formulate the correct words—correct for him; unkind; cutting. She stood, unfazed, placing her hands on her hips, her expression one of apathy.

Suddenly, he grinned, his perfectly symmetrical white teeth gleaming at her as his narrowed eyes glared daggers into her soul. "Your threats...are meaningless to me, Agent Romanoff. Of course, I would expect nothing less from a quim."

He moved to walk ahead of her but found himself caught off guard, her arms around his, his whole body being swung around and slammed into the wall while her forearm pressed deeply into his Adam's apple. Loki laughed, the sound choked as he tried to pull air into his lungs. "Did I..." he began, gasping, "...hit a nerve, Agent?"

"Don't you ever call me that name again or I promise you, I will find a way to kill a god,"she hissed before releasing him, allowing him to cough and suck in his breath. He was grinning while he coughed, his long fingers pressed to his pale throat.

"Have I ever told you how delicious you are when you're angry?" he practically wheezed, and he definitely wasn't expecting her strong right hook to the face.

It actually hurt a little.

**SHIELD Helicarrier Bridge, 2:15pm**

"There you are," Fury said, impatience prevalent in his tone. He watched as Natasha and Loki emerged from the lift together and Loki was nursing the tiniest of bruises near his left eye, while Natasha tore a piece of her blouse and wrapped it around bruised and bleeding knuckles.

"Okay, whatever it is he said to you, Agent Romanoff, next time you decide to punch him, you should remember you'll probably take more of the damage than he will," Fury said, as she wrapped the strip of cloth around her hand, uncaring that the blood seeped through the material almost immediately. She turned a blue-eyed glare on Fury.

"Thanks, sir. Why didn't I think of that?" she grumbled, flopping down in a chair. Loki sat across from her, watching her with calculating eyes.

Fury glanced between them and then looked at the rest of the team, who all sat staring, anxiously, at them. Clint brushed Natasha's arm with his fingers. "You okay, Nat?" he murmured, leaning in close to her.

Loki's eyes slid to him, and narrowed, thinly. For some reason, he didn't like that, but he composed himself, swiftly. He looked to Fury. "Well?"

Fury nodded. "Natasha is our best infiltrator. And you, Loki, are the only one on our team who understands magic well enough to get us some answers. So..."

"Yes, yes, I know, the qui—ahem, the woman and I are part of a team. Get on with it," growled Loki. "My patience grows thin."

"Hn," Fury grunted and then passed them each a folder. Loki opened his and furrowed his brow. "Lawrence Lawson? Age: 30. Occupation...lawyer?"

"Seemed the most fitting for a man with a tongue as silver as yours," Fury replied, smirking.

"Charming. Marital Status: Married. Spouse..."

"Natalie Lawson," Natasha murmured, holding up her folder. "Age: 30. Occupation: Housewife. Which means my skulking around town during the day when everyone should be working won't be suspicious."

"Oh, you've got to be joking," Loki murmured, leaning back in his chair. "She calls herself the Black Widow. Do you honestly expect me to even _pretend_ to be her husband?"

"What? Is the big, bad god of Mischief scared?" Clint jeered, grinning, cheekily, at Loki.

Loki's hands fisted on the table, his knuckles turning whiter than normal. "I was simply stating a fact. Was I not, Agent Romanoff?"

"My past is my past, Loki," Natasha murmured. "That being said, I really would love to kill you. But since this is my assignment, I think I'll just follow orders. You'd be wise to do the same."

Loki looked at Fury and then at the rest of the team. Tony made some gesture that seemed reminiscent of a snake and then snickered and Loki really wanted to pluck each of his goatee hairs out one by one, but he simply 'hn'ed and waved his hand, absently. "Very well."

"Good," Fury replied. "You'll both keep a wire and small camera on at all times." He put the equipment up on the table. "That way we know exactly how the town operates and can start collecting detailed records on it. Also, if you feel like you've been compromised in any way, or that your in some kind of immediate danger, the rest of the team will be called in instantaneously. They will always be on standby. But, I'd rather handle this problem quietly if possible."

Natasha nodded and glanced at Loki. He was silent and motionless. He looked bored and impatient, but he said nothing. Then, he gave a nonchalant shrug and waved Fury off, a dispassionate affirmation.

"Good. Get yourself ready. All of the paperwork for your aliases are in those folders and your 'civilian' clothes are packed in suitcases, waiting in one of the Quinjets. The jet will take you to a boat that will take you to Storybrooke's main harbor. Are we clear?"

Natasha nodded. Loki remained silent.

"Good. You leave in 20 minutes. Dismissed."

**Storybrooke Hospital, 2:20pm**

"Jones?"

Killian looked up from the crossword puzzle he was working on—or rather, staring blankly at as none of the clues made any sense to him. He had gotten sick of watching the stupid magic picture box and had decided perhaps playing a game of logic might keep his mind from turning into mush.

As his blue eyes turned up from their place on the puzzle, Dr. Whale came into his room, holding his chart, flipping through the pages. He glanced at him after reviewing the information and murmured, "It seems you're healing well. You may be out of here sooner than expected."

"Oh?" Killian murmured. I'm sure the gosling will be ever so pleased to hear that. "How soon is soon, then, Doctor?"

"Tomorrow or the next day if your most recent X-Ray is any indication. But that doesn't mean you're 100%. It just means you're well enough to check yourself out. I'll still want you to rest and not do anything strenuous to your midsection until your fully healed," Dr. Whale replied and wrote something on Killian's paperwork. He then jotted something down on a pad and tore it off, handing it to him. "I'll also want you to take these for the pain. Just in case."

"That won't be necessary, Doctor. There's nary a pirate what can't handle a little pain," he replied, but took the slip of paper anyway when Dr. Whale didn't seem to budge. It obviously wasn't a suggestion.

When that was done, Whale nodded and turned to leave, closing the door behind him. Without much force behind the motion, it didn't latch all the way and, carefully, Killian listened when he thought he heard Belle's name

"You seem to be doing well, Belle," he heard Whale say.

"I still don't remember anything," was Belle's reply. "People keep saying that. Saying my name is...Belle."

"It is." Whale's response. He continued. "Despite your memory, however, your injuries have pretty much healed. You're free to leave whenever you want."

"Thank your, Dr. Whale." The sound of her voice changed. It was softer, more intimate. Killian focused and he could hear the warmth in her voice. "You've been so kind to me. You're the only one who hasn't pushed or prodded my memories. How can I ever repay you?"

_So_, Killian thought,_ the Crocodile's woman has found a new target for her affections? How that must crush the slimy reptile!_

Something twisted inside Killian's heart. Something unfamiliar and he suddenly growled, and looked at the handcuff around his wrist. _Emma..._

He sighed and leaned back against his pillow. What an infuriating woman.

He closed his eyes. Maybe, in sleep, blonde hair and blues would not haunt him so tangibly.

**SHIELD Quinjet, 2:40pm**

Her eyebrow was twitching. Twitching in irritation. The shuffling. The rummaging. It was infuriating. She wished he would just stop. Stop. **Stop.**

"**STOP****!"**

Loki looked up from where he knelt, raising an eyebrow at the redheaded woman sitting across from him. "Is something wrong, Agent Romanoff?"

"Stop rummaging through your suitcase. It's distracting."

Loki stood, holding up a green polo. "This is unacceptable attire."

"This is human attire. Deal with it."

"What's wrong with my attire?"

"You look like you just stepped out of Romeo and Juliet. Or a movie about vikings." She made a gesture that looked like she was drawing two long antlers above her head with her fingers.

Loki glared at her. He placed his palm against his jet black hair, imagining his helmet. A deep scowl folded into his features. "How dare you! My helmet is that of a royal. It is common regalia for a prince of Asgard."

"Really? And I thought you were overcompensating for something," she grumbled, glancing at his pants, briefly. She smirked.

He crossed the distance between them so fast that Natasha didn't actually have time to react despite her amazing reflexes. He pressed her against the solid metal wall of the Quinjet, green piercing blue and his expression was so cold that she could almost feel the blistering cold of Jotunheim in that gaze.

"You know not of what you speak, woman," he hissed. "My lineage is not one of overcompensation in that area and I will not tolerate such insolence if I am to be your husband. You will treat me with respect or I will rip you limb from limb without remorse."

Natasha was silent, the muscles in her jaw twitching as she clenched her teeth behind her pink-tinted lips. Suddenly, she blinked as Loki held up a small, circular band, made of genuine white cold, with a single emerald sitting atop it's delicate circumference.

"Put it on," he mumbled.

Natasha snatched it from him and slipped it on her left ring finger. "Satisfied?"

"I could really care less, but Fury insists that this needs to be believable," he replied and slipped it's plain white-gold counterpart onto his finger and began to change his clothes.

As Natasha sat, already dressed from head to toe in blue jeans, flats and a white blouse with a black cardigan over it, she cursed herself when she saw inches of pale skin revealed before her eyes and couldn't stop herself from staring. He was no wear as muscled as his brother, but every inch of him was toned to perfection, lines of subtle muscle carved into his torso and chest, and moving up slim, sculpted arms.

She also noted the scars. So many scars.

"Where did you get those?" The question left her mouth before she could stop it.

Loki paused in the middle of pulling the green polo on, before letting it drop over the rest of his upper-half, covering each and every memory of battles—and enemies—past. "That is none of your concern."

_I knew he was going to say that. I shouldn't have asked_. "Well, whatever. We're getting close. Get ready."

This was going to be the tricky part. A speed boat was about to go whizzing past, and they had to time this just right so that when they dropped from the Quinjet, they'd hit the boat and not the water.

Loki tossed Natasha her duffle and slung his own onto his back. Natasha took hers and did the same, and then pressed her earpiece. "We're in position, sir."

"_Good_," came Fury's voice. "_The boat has the rest of the supplies you'll need for the mission. Good luck_."

Yeah, Natasha thought, I'll need it.

The hatch opened. She looked at Loki. He looked back.

Then, he extended his hand.

Blue eyes widened. She reached out, suspiciously.

His hand gripped hers.

She could hear the roar of the Quinjet's engines.

She could hear the boat's motor in the distance.

Her heart beat faster.

He squeezed her hand. She wondered why.

Then...

They jumped.

**Regina's Hideaway, 3:00pm**

"You shouldn't be here."

Regina moved from one side of the black-and-white room to the other as the woman who'd just stepped through her mirror took a step toward her.

"Why are you here?" she murmured, "...Mother."

Cora smirked and looked around. She removed the cloak she wore and hung it on a nearby coat-rack, taking in every detail of the secret hideout her daughter had built for herself. She turned her painted red smirk toward her child, held her hands out in a gesture of surrender.

"I've simply come to see you, darling," Cora replied. "To talk to you. To...make up for what I've done to you. I am so sorry, my girl. So very sorry."

"I don't want to talk to you," Regina replied. "You'll ruin everything. Everything I've worked for...Henry..."

"Ah, yes. The child I took the form of. I had to get you to welcome me in. But, my dear, I only want to make up for lost time...to help..."

"The only one you've ever wanted to help is yourself," Regina replied and then picked up her purse and keys. "Come on. I'm taking you to the sheriff."

"Why, Regina? Why turn me over to them?"

"Because I promised Henry I would be better. I promised. And if you're really sorry, then you should do the same for me. You owe me that much."

Cora was silent for a moment, her long, taffeta gown rustling as she shifting from one position to another. She glanced around again and then at her daughter, her dark eyes growing warm and sad. "You're right. Very well...I'll go."

Regina nodded and magicked them both out of the room and into the mausoleum, making her way up the stairs and into the cemetery with her mother. She was not about to take the fall for whatever Cora was planning.

Not with Henry's love on the line.

**Gold's Shop, 3:00pm**

The woman Gold had called Emery made her way into the shop. She winced when the bell above the door rang but was calmed when no one emerged from the back. So, Rumplestiltskin was gone for whatever reason. She moved forward in the shop and looked around.

She saw the globe sitting on the counter and smirked._ Let's see how close you are, my Prince_.

She moved toward it, picking up an antique dagger from one of the shelves as she went. She pricked her finger and reached out to touch it's opaque surface, but rough fingers wrapped around her wrist, stopping her forward motion.

She glanced over to see Rumple glaring at her.

"That will be enough of that, Emery," he said, and removed the globe from the counter. He walked to the back, where she knew he was hiding the globe and so she channeled her power to her finger, healing the wound. When Rumple returned, his expression was dark.

"How dare you?" he snapped.

"What?" she said, innocently. "I just wanted to see what it would do."

"You know very well what would happen to it. I'm bound and determined to find Bae once all of this insanity with Belle is resolved. I will not have you ruining that anymore than you already have," Rumple replied. "What were you trying to locate?"

Emery shrugged and turned. "Nothing of importance. See you later, Rumplestiltskin." She left, her brow furrowing with irritation._ It's of little importance. I feel his power. He's close. Soon. Very soon._

**5 Miles From Storybrooke Harbor, 3:05pm**

Once she and Loki had landed, she had immediately ripped her hand from his and moved to take the boat off of autopilot. Loki, in the meantime, was going through the things Fury had for them—more suitcases of clothes, equipment, important documents. Everything to make them look as if they were actually moving from a real point A to their new point B. From one home to another.

Now, it was a waiting game. They'd been sitting, silently, in the boat for a good twenty minutes, and Loki was fiddling with the cuffs on his arms. He knew, eventually, she'd have to remove them or he'd never be able to give S.H.I.E.L.D a full analysis of the magic in Storybrooke. However, he wasn't planning on doing that anyway. As soon as the cuffs came off, he'd take that as his opportunity. He'd kill her and then he'd hunt each Avenger down one by one. He'd finish what he'd started five months ago, in Manhattan.

Five months ago. Had it been so long already? Nearly half a year by Midgard's time. No one had mentioned the length of time between then and now since he'd arrived and now, for the first time, he thought about it and it made his stomach sour. He hated this place. Those people. All who had placed him in a cycle of torment five months prior. He'd make them pay.

He was broken from his thoughts when he heard Natasha's voice.

"Five months ago," she said from her place at the wheel, steering the speedboat toward the harbor which was finally close enough to be seen in the distance.

Strange. She'd been thinking of the same thing.

"...why did you do what you did? To New York? To us?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him.

Loki was silent. The boat's motor rumbled against the ocean, causing it to ripple and splash. He glanced out into the blue water, his brow furrowed and then he shrugged. "I don't see why that is any of your concern. I thought I'd made my motives quite clear."

"There's always more to it with people," she replied. "There was with me."

"Ah, all of the little details you kept in your head. The ones you never told Barton. All the little emotions you locked away in your heart. I can't say I'm not curious," he murmured and then glanced away from her. "But I'm not one of you people. I am not of Midgard, nor would I want to be. I do not operate the way any of you do. I am a Prince of Asgard."

Natasha watched him, frowning deeply when he seemed to be struck by something; something that startled him. He glanced up at her again and then back at the water, a dark, angry melancholy falling over his features. "No...I am a Prince of Jotunheim. As far removed from you foolish mortals as ever one could be."

Somewhere, deep in her heart, she related to him. Related to being different, being shunned. Being the one everyone hated—the one everyone hunted. She opened her mouth to speak, but her peripheral vision caught the harbor approaching fast. She said nothing, instead, and pulled the boat, carefully, up to a nearby dock.

Killing the engine, she stood and moved toward him. Picking up her suitcases, she turned and stared at the unfamiliar scenery before them.

Loki stood as well, and took a long look at the town before them.

Finally, their eyes turned to one another in understanding and curiosity. Then, in almost a whisper, Natasha murmured:

"Welcome to Storybrooke."

**Review.**

**"If God is for us, who can stand against us?" Romans 8:31**


End file.
